


The Unfortunate Specimen Collector

by recoveringrabbit



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 03:17:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7297282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recoveringrabbit/pseuds/recoveringrabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jemma finds herself in a damp dilemma.</p>
<p>A Brief Anne of Green Gables AU, to celebrate a follower milestone on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unfortunate Specimen Collector

“And you’re sure your mother won’t mind,” said Jemma, eyeing the Johnsons’ dory with longing.

Daisy shook her head confidently. “I’ve done it dozens of times. The current carries you under the bridge right down to the landing; you don’t even have to row.”

“And you’re sure you don’t want to come?” pressed Jemma.

“Goodness no,” shuddered Daisy, “holding bits of dripping pond scum isn’t a good way to spend an afternoon, I think. I’ll wait for you at the landing.”

“Oh very well,” said Jemma, gathering up her field kit and stepping into the dory without further argument. She always enjoyed Daisy’s company, but the siren song of the magnifying lenses and neatly labeled bottles Phil brought her from Carmody—to May’s disapproval—had grown too strong to resist. Quite apart from the myriad wonders teeming below the surface of the pond, Jemma also anticipated the joy of winning Miss Weaver’s promised Natural Science prize over Fi—the others. She settled herself in the bottom of the flat boat and rolled up her sleeves with satisfaction. “Shove me away,” she directed Daisy, who obliged with a mighty heave before taking off at unladylike speeds for the lower landing.

The current, wide but lazy, caught the dory quickly, and Jemma floated along in scientific bliss for several minutes. It was easy as anything to skim the long, leafy fronds off the surface, and she was particularly pleased to capture the crumpled form of one of the long-legged water bugs that seemed to skate across the pond in the summer as easily as she and Daisy did in the winter. She had always wondered how they were able to accomplish that feat, suspecting some sort of water repellant, and hoped to be able to replicate it for human use. Next to being able to fly, she would like to be able to wade without getting wet. There was nothing so uncomfortable as wet clothes. As she knew, for she became suddenly aware that her shoes and stockings and seat were not merely damp, but soaked through to the skin, and there were several more inches of water in the bottom of the dory than was acceptable. The boat had sprung a leak.

Jemma leapt to her feet with a gasp, only to sit down quickly when she realized the position only allowed the water faster entrance. It lapped the tops of her button boots, threatened to splash her knees, and listed the dory dramatically to one side as the boat continued its helpless and now doomed course. She saw at once there was no hope of reaching Daisy in safety; she would be at the bottom before then. Her only chance was the bridge. If she could just reach it, she might be able to grab hold of a pile and cling to it until help came. Cursing the social niceties that forbade girls from learning how to swim and swinging the leather strap of the field kit over her shoulder, she waited until the boat bumped up against one of the piles and leapt, landing with a bruising thud against a particularly hard knot. But her head, if nothing else, remained above water, so she counted it a success and settled in to wait for assistance.

The empty dory went just past the bridge, where it sunk like a stone just in time for Daisy, making crowns of her namesake flower, to look up and see it vanish into its watery grave. For a second she froze in horror. Then, abandoning her poor posies, she ran shrieking for help, straight past her own home to Green Gables. May was there. May would know what to do. From her precarious perch, Jemma watched Daisy’s flight with the same comforting thought in mind and hoped very much it wouldn’t be long. She really was dreadfully uncomfortable.

The minutes dragged by, each seeming far longer than the standard sixty seconds no matter how often Jemma counted them off through chattering teeth. The water, pleasantly cool to splash on one’s face, turned bone-chilling when one was fully immersed; the prolific plant-life she had collected so blithely helpfully replaced her lost samples by twining in her hair. And still Daisy and May did not come. What if they didn’t come in time? she asked herself, carefully adjusting her grip for the hundredth time. What if they didn’t come at all?

Then, just as she felt she could hold on no longer, Leopold Fitz came rowing by.

Fitz saw her floating field kit before he saw her, and followed the long strap to a pale, proud face and a pair of embarrassed and frightened, but still proud, amber eyes.

“Simmons!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

She had a retort ready at her lips but he didn’t wait to hear it. Pulling himself close, he hung over the side of his boat and reached both arms out to her. She had no choice. However awkward she felt clasping her arms around the neck of her nemesis, the simple fact remained that she lacked the strength to heave herself and her heavy skirts into the boat unaided. They managed it quickly between the two of them, but it was little comfort to Jemma as she sat, soaking and shivering in the tattered remnants of her dignity, decidedly avoiding Fitz’s curious, and curiously, blue gaze.

“Well, if you must know,” she said when he made no sign of rowing, “I was collecting samples in Daisy’s dory which was, apparently, in poor repair, because it sunk underneath me. I’m sure she must be very worried. If you will kindly row me to the landing.”

He obliged without attempting further conversation, for which Jemma was grateful to him for perhaps the first time in her life, and they came to the landing in short order. Jemma sprung out unaided and turned to thank him as icily as possible, too polite not to acknowledge his service even though it grated to do so. But he had followed her from the boat and was only inches away, one hand outstretched to grip her wrist.

“Look, Jemma,” he said before she could speak, “I’m hunting specimens too. Since you lost yours, maybe we could work together? I think we could get on, if you’ll forgive me for what I said.”

Despite her prodigiously large brain, Jemma was a girl with a heart like anyone else, and hers gave a quick little beat as she looked into Fitz’s eyes and saw the shy, hopeful eagerness beaming from them. For a second, she let herself imagine it: being friends with Fitz, the two of them wandering the woods and peering through her lenses and standing side by side before the whole school to accept the prize. Then it disappeared just as quickly, swallowed up in the still-painful memory of another time she had to stand before the whole school, and she wrenched her arm away with tears smarting in her eyes.

“And I’m to believe that _now_ you’ve decided girls are capable of doing science as well as boys? Perhaps you’re just intending to take my share of the credit, since I’m clearly better at it than you are. We will _never_ get on, Leopold Fitz, because I can _never_ forgive you!”

Perhaps if she had been content with her first question, much that followed would have been avoided. Fitz fully intended to explain that his disbelieving “girls don’t do science!” had not been meant to reflect his belief in her ability, only his astonishment that a girl with such interests existed. But he had his pride too, and her scorn cut him to the bone. She really believed he needed her to win the prize? Fine then. He would show her. He set his jaw and put both hands on his hips, blue eyes blazing. “Never mind, then! I’ll do it on my own.” And he leapt back into the boat, taking up the oars and pulling away with long, even, defiant strokes.

Jemma watched him go with a coal still burning in her chest. To let him have the last word smarted, but she could not think of an appropriately cutting retort. Somehow, her indignation had left her when he did, leaving only a queer sort of regret. Of course he had insulted her terribly, but—well, it might have been pleasant to tool about in a boat—no. She shook herself firmly, spinning on her heel to march up the path. Daisy would be worried about her and May quietly concerned; she had no spare thoughts for Leopold Fitz.

Halfway to Green Gables, she met a nearly hysteric Daisy clinging to May, who held a large quilt under one black-clad arm. She wrapped it around Jemma, tucking it around her shoulders. “Oh, Jemma!” wailed Daisy, “I was so frightened! How did you escape?”

“Fitz,” she said dazedly, suddenly realizing how very much she wanted to sit down and weep for a bit. “He was out rowing.”

“Fitz?” said Daisy. “Are you friends now, then?”

Something like venom rose in Jemma’s throat, and she flashed out her response. “We are _not_ , and we never will be, Daisy. In fact I would rather not hear his name again, as far as possible.”

May rolled her eyes, chafing Jemma’s arms under the quilt. “I declare, Jemma. Will you never learn?”

Without her permission, Jemma’s gaze drifted back to the pond. On the far side, Fitz in his boat was a mere speck. “I hope so, May. But evidence does not lend itself to that conclusion.”  

**Author's Note:**

> While I have plans to write a full AU someday, this is all there will be at present. Let me finish my monstrous murder mystery and we will reassess. In the meantime, there is a glorious post over on Tumblr pointing out all the parallels between these two glorious OTPs that may sate any needs you have. :)


End file.
